Unrequited
by Acton1842
Summary: Twenty years on. Erik has a daughter. Histroy repeats... Reviewers loved and thanked.
1. The Ghost of Gounod

_Twenty years after the Paris Opera burned. Erik has a daughter, Raoul a son and daughter. Both of their wives are dead. What will happen when history starts to repeat its self..?_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, Raoul, any of the Giry's or Gailhard. Henri Marteu is a real historical character, but my interpretation IN NO WAY RESEMBLES THE REAL PERSON. seriously, i was very creaped out when i invented the name foru week prior to finding out that not only was he a real violinist but he could have been working at the opera that the time the action takes place. freaky. And i certinaly don't own Gaston..!_

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**Required- Female musician to give piano lessons to the 9 year old Moerogis de La Martyniere. Applicants must be 17-25, play the piano excelently and preferably one other instrument. Applicants need write to Madame Roussel on the Rue Auber. **

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It was a cold October morning when Celeste Delven left her home in search of the morning paper. The light had only just struck the cold Paris streets and the city was barely awakening. Turning from the entrance of her home on the Rue Scribe, she slipped away form the shadow of the opera house and onto the mist covered streets of her home city.

It didn't take her long to find what she was searching for, so she stayed out a while longer, taking a route down to the banks of the Sane. The autumn sunlight had grown stronger and boats and begun to glide up the river, stirring up the mist as they went. As she headed back, she breathed in the smells of the city- fresh bakery, and tripped lightly form road to pavement. But still the sun rose higher and Celeste knew that she must return home.

She made it back before the streets became too busy, and managed to slip unnoticed into the entrance of her home. She never noticed the darkness in the passage ways in her home, to her it was as normal as the smell of greasepaint.

As she entered the kitchen a white cat brushed against her leg and mewed softly.

"Ah, Ayesha. You've got white fir on my favourite skirt." She picked the cat up and tickled the space between her ears, "I really shouldn't, but we just won't tell papa"

Putting the cat down Celeste opened the cupboard and pulled out a tin of Mackerel. She lifted off the lid and whispered to the cat "just the one." As Ayesha tucked into her prize, she put the kettle on and buttered a few croissants. She made her was to the drawing room and began her leisurely breakfast. The room she was in was very light for the position on the street. She was still flicking through the paper when her father entered the room.

"You're up early Papa" she said, "would you like some coffee, there's enough hot water"

"Thank you Celeste" he replied sitting beside her and helping himself to a croissant. Ayesha mewed softly and jumped onto his lap purring all the while. "Good morning Ayesha, you seem very happy this morning" he raised a knowing eyebrow at his daughter.

"Here you are father" she handed over the coffee, "I was thinking of visiting Monsieur Gailhard this morning"

"Any particular reason for the visit"

"No Papa, I haven't seen him for a while"

"Are you sure..."

"Oh Papa" Celese blushed and stared into her coffee mug, "I would like to find out when Henri gets back form Russia"

"Ah, are the orchestra is missing their star" Papa said wisely

"Since he's gone the first violinists have never played in tune!" she replied, a little louder than was necessary.

Papa chuckled, "I could send them a note, get it sorted. You'd be surprised how far a little terror goes."

"Thank you Papa, but I'm sure we'll be fine once Henri gets back"

Papa nodded his consent and turned to his paper.

"Gounod is dead!" Papa read with a worried tone

The statement caused a deathly silence. Even the cat stopped purring.

"When?" Celeste asked simply.

"Last night" was the shocked reply.

"My God" Celeste muttered.

There was a brief pause, "we shall play his requiem"

"Yes Papa. I wonder if we still play Faust next season."

"They might even bring it forwards, you should ask Gailhard when you see him"

They played Gounod a brilliant requiem. Between them they made sure the tribute was fitting for the composer of the family's favourite opera. The beautiful music created by father and daughter filled the entire space with delectable tones.

After an hour the music stopped.

"It's such a shame" Celeste muttered to herself.

"Oh Celeste, if only you knew" her father replied so quietly she didn't hear him.

She went back to her room after a while, discreetly taking the paper with her. She had bought it for a specific reason and had now come to the difficult part that was putting her plan into action.

Celeste had been one of the second violinists at the opera for a long time. Too long. She knew she had absolutely no chance of getting into the firsts. Those posts where currently occupied with the sort of bossy snobs that think the world revolves around them. Besides, Celeste was far more happy to sit at the back and blend into the background of the music.

It is a strange truth that the Celeste at home was very different to Celeste in the orchestra pit. Whist at home she could play absolutely anything her father threw at her, with a sort of brilliance that would have made her listeners think she was the angel of music herself. But whilst at work she played adequately, even a little blandly. This was not due to over weaning pride or divine modesty. It was more to do with the fact that she was scared, scared of what triumph would bring. She was quietly happy where she was, she didn't want to be propelled halfway around Europe and be fawned over by lovers and admires. Celeste was quite content to stay with her father, her music and the cat.

Except that was it. She wasn't happy any more. She was bored. Celeste was finding that she had far to much time on her hands, especially during the longer opera runs. She only actually had a five hour day at the opera and, since she had inherited her fathers nocturnal habits but not his love of composing, she found herself with absolutely nothing to do. Then one day she had spotted an advertisement in the paper that was simply calling to her. Now all she had to do was convince her father to let her get another job.

"Papa" she said quietly, creeping into his study. He was at the organ and she had timed her request perfectly; her father almost always said 'yes' when she asked for something when he was composing.

"What is it child?" he replied not taking his eyes form the music in front of him

"I found an article in the paper that I would like you to read" she handed over the paper and pointed it out to him. She held her breath as he scanned it.

He sighed, "do you want to apply?" he asked

"I do"

"Is Gailhard not paying you enough?"

"No Papa. I just think having a student would be an interesting experience. I could learn allot"

"_you have no idea" _a voice in Papa's head whispered.

"Besides, there cant be any harm in applying, can there?" she said

"Well fine then, you can always quit if you don't like it. And the Rue Auber is a very respectable address. I don't see any harm in it"

"Oh, thank you Papa" she sighed gratefully, taking the paper back. It was then that she noticed that her father was wearing his mask.

"Are you going out?" she asked

"No, I just think I need to pay a visit to Gailhard my self. Don't look so worried Celeste, it's not about you. It's been a while since I was backstage, and I think I have missed it."

"Right Papa. I'll let Gailhard know you'll be up to see him in an hour or so."

"Thank you Celeste" she turned to go, "Oh and Celeste, be careful. Remember you are my daughter"

"You too Papa."

As she turned and left the room, Erik couldn't help but feel a little sad. His daughter was all grown up and moving on in the world. Without him. He sighed and turned back to his music. Soon she would be gone and he would be all alone in the world with no-one except the cat.

He turned to Ayesha, "I suppose you'll be wanting a treat for sitting there so nicely and not on my papers?" The cat looked back at him and purred. He tickled her between the ears and the purring grew louder.

"All right, you can have ONE mackerel. We just won't tell Celeste"

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_A/N: so Yay or Nay? Do i write more or hang my head in shame? If you want to, the prologue is called 'stay with me' so feel free to check it out. and R/R please else i might bestow more of this travesty on your eyes. PS for Moerogis de La Martyniere, check out chapter two of PotO. that will give you a clue to what happens... loves. L x_


	2. Gailhard

**'No European captial posseses an opera house so comprihensive in plan and execution, and none can bost an edifice equaly vast and splendid...' extract form the publisher's note of the origional American eddition of 'The Phantom of the Opera'**

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Celeste made her way through the grandiose corridors of the front lobby in the Opera Garnier. She stopped a few times, to chat to one the ballet girls and to give directions to a porter, but eventually she made it to the office she was looking for. The door was closed, but Celeste had been expecting that. Gailhard had the Herculean task of running the Opera on his own. He managed it perfectly though, if with a little help from her father. For as long as she could remember, Gailhard had been like a second father to Celeste. He could deny her nothing.

There was a man waiting outside on one of the velvet chairs, so she sat opposite him, fully intending on waiting for her turn.

"Do you have an appointment?" he asked, looking at her. He looked as if he was in his mid forties, with a dark mop of hair and a small pair of spectacles.

"No I don't" she answered quietly.

There was a slight pause. He seemed to be examining her with a faint hint of recognition in his face.

"I don't think we've met before. I'm Gaston, Gaston Leroux." He extended his hand for her to shake, which she did.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Celeste Delven"

there was another pause. Celeste occupied herself by staring out one of the large windows and cleaned his glasses a little too thoroughly.

"Do you work here?" he asked not quite able to stand the silence any longer

"Yes I'm a violinist in the orchestra."

"I see"

Exchanging pleasantries was not one of Celeste's strong points, but she tried to strike up an ample conversation, "So what brings you to the opera, M. Leroux?"

"I am a reporter for L'Echo de Paris. I'm doing some research for an... article"

"Ah yes, I thought I knew the name. I read your article on Mount Etna. It was very interesting"

He chuckled to himself "I'm glad some one likes my work"

At that point, Monsieur Gailhard stepped out from the office. He was a short man in his late forties, with a thin black moustache and a small scraping of black hair on his head.

"Ah Celeste, what a nice surprise, what can I do for you?"

"Oh it's only something small" she replied, "M. Leroux was here first. You should talk to him."

"Nonsense" M. Leroux said, "I can wait"

"Thank you Monsieur, I won't take long"

She stepped in to the small but comfortable office, whilst M. Gailhard moved through a sea of papers to his desk in front of the window.

"Well Celeste. What can I do for you?"

"It's about what I came to see you for last week" she replied, taking a set.

"Ah, what did he say?"

"He said yes!" she handed him the paper. "I think I might need a reference, I was wondering if you would do mine for me"

"Of course I will. Do you know the family?"

"I'm afraid not. But the address is on the Rue Auber, and I have picked up a few of my fathers tricks."

"The name Madame Roussel sounds familiar, I'm sure she's the governess of a respectable family" he thought for a bit. "Tell you what Celeste, M. Leroux out there is waiting for a tour of the Opera. I was going to take him myself, but I'm too busy. If you take him round, I'll have your reference ready for you by the time you get back."

"Thank you so much M. Gailhard" she got up, and curtseyed

"My pleasure Celeste. It's always nice to see you my dear"

She left the office and closed the door quietly behind her.

"Ah, Monsieur Leroux. Monsieur Gailhard is very sorry but he can not take you on the tour today. So I'm afraid I am your guide today."

"Well, I'm sure your tour of the Opera house shall be just as riveting as his. Shall we?"

They moved on down the highly polished corridor together.

"So is there any places you would like to go in particular, Monsieur?"

"Well I would of course like to see the auditorium. Then perhaps, as it is your area of expertise I should very much like to see the pit, and the stage, naturally. Then, the chapel here and the ballet rooms."

She turned down a corridor and opened a door, gesturing for him to follow her through it.

"And I should very much like to see the dressing room that belonged to Christi…" he was about to finish his sentence but the words died in his throat.

She had taken him through a very small entrance, that lead straight onto the stage. She walked with him quietly past the wings. He had been to the Opera many times before, but never like this. He stood awed by the shear size of the auditorium. The sea of red seats spread before him, then rose up to the crystal stars in the sky. The chandelier looked even more impressive from the stage view and the gods looked down on him with golden smiles.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Celeste asked with a smile. She moved leisurely to the centre of the stage and he followed her. There where other people around. A few ballet rats that had been practising in their lavish costumes. One of the stage hands gave he a smile and she returned it with a slight blush.

"Now I understand why people get stage fright" Leroux sighed

"Luckily for me, it's not something I have to worry about." She looked over the edge of the stage, and gestured to the pit "this is my domain"

Leroux stared down into the abyss there where several instruments scattered around and bits of manuscript that seemed to form some sort of organised chaos.

"Well Monsieur, maybe form here you would like to go to the..."

Just then something caught her attention. There was a horrible screeching sound that came from somewhere upstage.

"Where is he?" came an incensed cry

Celeste blanched an almost impossible shade of pale and gave a half hearted smile "Monsieur Leroux, this may be our cue to leave"

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_A/N you know what to do. Let me know what you think! Please I've just come up with what I hope will be an effective ending but I could still use some encouragement. Loves, L x_


	3. The New Margarita

_A/N. Okay so I'm still feeling a bit yucky form the car crash I was involved in yesterday, and he dance exam that I just did, with whiplash. I know smart decision, not. But before you fly off the handle I was NOT the one driving. Any ways, not that its any excuse but I'm on several doses of painkillers so my spelling and grammar has gone a little bit hay-wire. Lots of love goes to my readers naturally and to my one (and only) much appreciated reviewer, zrose. Loves. L x_

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"**My voice is a blessing, and no matter what other people say, I can't block it..." Patti LaBelle**

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"You!" there was a screech from somewhere up stage, "I demand to know where Henri is!"

At that moment, a magnificent sight came into view. There was a pink haze making its was over the horizon of the upstage area. As it swept into view Gaston could see that the sight was in fact a rather large woman, dressed in what could only be described as a rather large merange. This was then followed a group of people who looked and sounded like files around a carcass.

Celeste blanched a little and seemed to look about for a discrete escape route but another loud shriek caused her to stop and turn.

She looked the gigantic pudding in the eyes and curtseyed politely, "La Eclarice. I am very sorry, but I have not seen Monsieur Marteau this morning."

this perfectly simple exclamation was greeted with another outraged cry. "I was promised a rehearsal" La Eclarice turned around to her fly like cronies who where all buzzing sympathetic.

Celeste took a few more steps towards Gaston with the apparent attention of ushering themselves away from the frothy pink mountain. Gaston remained transfixed, "who is this wonderful creature?" he asked quietly.

"This is La Eclarice," she responded in equally hushed tones, "she is Paris's leading Prima Donna"

"Where is the orchestra!" La Eclarice shouted into the auditorium. The duty to break the news fell to Celeste once more.

"Excuse me Madame, but they are not due in for another five hours" she replied simply

"But I must have my rehearsal. Damn musicians!"

"I'm sorry" at this point Celeste made a definite attempt to move. But for some reason Gaston remained routed to the spot. Not wanting to appear rude, his host remained routed with him, her attempts at escape foiled.

However it did momentarily seem that the stage could go back to normal. The pink desert made a distinct attempt to waddle of stage and Celeste breathed a momentary sigh of relief. It was too soon though. A particularly greasy looking crone turned to his mistress and whispered something.

"I knew I recognised you from somewhere girl! You play in the orchestra" the realisation that she had been caught out made Celeste turn even whiter then before, "play for me!"

"I'm afraid I can't Madame. Monsieur Gailhard asked me to take Monsieur Leroux on an extensive tour of the opera house."

"and what would he want with a little rat like you?" she asked in a disgusted tone.

"Ah Madame," Gaston finally took the chance to speak, "I am researching for an article in L'Echo de Paris"

La Eclarice's face suddenly light up and she looked directly at Gaston with a flirtatious, almost threatening eye.

"I've always been interested in architecture" Gaston said, hoping to avoid being eaten but the prima Donna. The plan worked and she fast lost interest in the reporter. Instead she aimed her fire at Celeste.

"I will rehearse, you will play for me!" she demanded

"But Madame, My violin..." and yet form no where, a crone thrust one into her hands. Another fetched a music stand and a score was shoved under the poor girls nose.

"Play the aria from act three"

"But I'm only a second violinist, you need a first to play this..!"

"Now!"

realising that arguing was hopeless Celeste raised the instrument to the pace on her shoulder. She looked disparagingly at Gaston then turned her head to the stage wings where, much to her surprise, a group of chorus members and dancers had gathered.

It was like they has come to see an execution.

And, like a condemned prisoner the poor girl lifted her head, as if for divine inspiration. She apparently got it.

She heaved an almost heavy sigh and asked, "will two bars introduction be aright madame?"

"Fine. Play!"

With that, Celeste drew he bow against the strings of the violin that wasn't hers and played a part that wasn't hers either. Every one present drew a breath just waiting to hear a disaster. After all, she was only a second, and a very bland one at that. How on earth could she be expected to play such a complicated piece in the presence of a Diva?

But she did, beautifully...

the music that resonated form the violin on Celsete's shoulder was some of the most wonderful that Gaston had every heard. For some reason, the two bars that she played made him want to cry with happiness at the shear beauty of it all. But there stood Celeste, quiet as ever, appearing oblivious to the shear heaven that she was creating.

Everyone was enthralled, even La Eclarice who missed her cue. Celeste was wise enough not to say anything, played the two bars a gain and waited for her to sing.

_Come near me, its so cold out side_

_would you stay by the fire and be warm_

_let the glow of the flames dance upon you face_

_come by me, shelter here from the storm..._

the note coming form La Eclarice's mouth sounded harsh and dissident against the soft tones of Celeste's violin. But the sounds the diva was producing where far better than any she had previously produced. It was as if this heavenly violin gave her this inspiration this sing with a distinctly human voice, unlike the animalistic screeched that normally resided in her throat.

_Its far to late to be out on your own_

_whilst the rain and the wind doth blow_

_in the dead of the night theirs a mystical air_

_and the moonlight dances on the snow_

_for though you are a stranger in this town_

_you are welcome to stay here_

_an although you have not yet told me your name_

_I will love you like somebody dear_

she continued to play, but a question needed to be asked, "Madame, I'm sorry. The note written here is not the same as the one you just sung"

"WHAT?" and we where back to the animalistic cries

here Celeste stopped and the auditorium was broken out of its dreamlike stupor.

"I'm sorry, but the notes here aren't the same. I've got a B flat written here, you sung a B natural. And earlier it happened, I've got E natural and you sung D sharp... I don't mean to say that you where wr..."

"how dare you suggest that I was off key!"

"I didn't say that madame!"

"You implied it!"

"What I meant to say was, there might have been changes made. This score might not have been transposed proper..."

"How dare you insult the great Eclarice! Impudent child!"

"Madame!"

"Oh these musicians! I've had enough! Damn girl!"

and with that final curse she swept out from the stage in a swirl of pink and lace. Celeste was left standing alone on the sage.

Painfully aware that everyone was staring at her, Celeste quietly took the music stand and paced it on the side wing. She also left the violin with it, but was careful to put it to the side so that no one would step on it. She then walked calmly back to the centre of the stage betraying no hint of her inner emotions. In truth, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Monsieur I think you said you wanted to see the back stage area." Gaston nodded, "if you would kindly follow me..?"

she lead him through the hoard of chorus members who where making there way back onto the stage. She didn't make eye contact with anyone. This was not because she was a hard, selfish person, but due to the fact that she didn't want anyone to see the rather large blush spreading across her checks.

From the rafters of the stage, a figure in a white half masked looked down on his daughter and smiled. He had never been sure when, or even if, she would reveal her true talent to the world. Even though she had only been heard by a few people, he found it quite hard not to glow with pride. He turned away to relay the tale to Gailhard still chuckling in spite of himself. Everything seemed to be going so well.

And yet, from box five, another pair of eyes where watching...

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A/N haha, clifie. Well only a small one, but a clifie all the same. Here's a fun fact; as far as I'm aware Eclarice means 'ray of sunshine' in French. Which she certainly isn't. So anyways, I know I'm stating to turn into a review whore but seriously, you would make my day! Loves, L x


	4. October 29th

_A/N Goodness me! My computer really doesn't seem to like this chapter; it keeps deleting it. But I am determined to publish it, so here you are! Much love goes to you wonderful readers who have continued to read, and to my lovely reviewer slinco!_

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"****What a change! You're really not a bit, the gawkish girl that once you were.." Raoul, Think of Me, ALW's Phantom of the Opera.**_

Celeste continued to walk through the throngs of people whilst pretending to be oblivious to the many eyes staring at her. But one pair that she certainly was oblivious to kept watch on her until she was well out of sight. The owner of the eyes then turned form the edge of the box and went in search of this new Marguerita.

It wasn't that Celeste had not felt the green eyes burning a hole on the back of her neck, but more that she was used to the sensation.

Gaston marvelled at the small girl leading him onwards. Just a few moments before he had seen her emerge form her plain shell, into a wonderful being of music, only to crawl back into the shadows once more.

She was nearly at the threshold where the wings met that shadows of backstage when a voice made her stop dead in her tracks...

"So Erik, what can I do for you?" Gailhard said warmly at the shadowy figure opposite him.

"It's good to see you Gailhard" Erik replied, "How are you keeping?"

"Not bad, can't complain. How about you?"

"The odd ache and pain. But that's what you get for living were I do?"

"Ah, this isn't another lecture about repairs is it? You must understand Erik, there is allot of damp but the leaks in the roof has to be my top priority and…"

"Pedro, its alright. I know, I was just winding you up." Gailhard smiled and became more at ease; Erik only used his first name when he was in a good mood.

"I saw your daughter this morning" Gailhard decided to mention, "doesn't seem that long ago that she couldn't see over the top of this desk"

"Time files"

"She's growing into a beautiful young woman," Gailhard confessed. Erik paled a little; it was a very rare occasion that anyone mentioned Celeste, least of all called beautiful. Or a woman for that matter…

And for the second time that morning Erik was faced with the horrible feeling that his little girl wasn't little anymore.

"Anyway" Gailhard sighed, stirring Erik out of his thoughts, "forgive me for thinking that you're not here for small talk"

"No. you're right, as always. I'm here about this." He took the newspaper from the pocket in the inside of his coat and pushed it onto the table.

Gailhard took it and saw the headline, "Yes I'd heard. Such a shame. I suppose it won't be long until the whole of Paris is calling for o masquerade. I suppose I better put a Gounod work in for next season as well. I'm thinking 'Faust' or 'Romeo and Juliet'; they're the only two that are still popular. How about you?"

"Well, my personal choice will always be the same. But I just can't handle the thought of La Eclarice murdering 'The Jewel Song'. Remind me why we still employ her"

"The Conservatoire funding, that's why. If we stop her contract, we lose the money…"

"…and if we lose the money, we have to get more patrons"

"More trouble then it's worth, believe me."

Erik completely understood Gailhard's point. The thought of any more French vicomtes or English Barons trying to tell him what to do made his toes curl.

"We'll settle on Romeo and Juliet then" Erik offered.

"Agreed," Gailhard pencilled himself a note on a scrap of paper, "now about this masked ball. I've been wondering when we'll hold it."

Here Erik calmly reached inside another of his pockets and drew out a notebook. Gailhard, on the other hand, rummaged around the office frantically. But soon he located his diary on the windowsill.

"We need to get it done quickly, but I'll need at least a week to organise the whole thing. Its not that the musicians or the dancers are slow to pick things up, its just I need the time for advertising. Then again, we're very booked anyway. I could go for later…" here he flicked a page, "but then we're staring rehearsals for a new opera. Then there's that charity Gala the first week in November…" Gailhard flicked back again, "I guess it will have to be the 29th …but no I think that would be a bit in… then again, it's the only practical solution "

"Are you sure there's no other dates?"

"I'm sorry Erik, it's the 29th or nothing at all"

"That will have to do then" Erik scribbled something down in his notebook and then returned it to his pocket"

"I'll send you a list of the proposed acts for this ball as soon as I've got it. Celeste could play something if she wants to…"

"Perhaps, you'd have to take it up with her. I think I might sit this Ball out though"

"But it won't be a masked ball without you!"

Erik stood up and made for the door, coat swirling in an all too familiar fashon, "you'll manage…"

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_A/N I know, short chapter. But this week has been pretty darn hectic. Then again: shorter chapters mean faster updates. I know no one has this on alert, but if you are still reading, drop me a line. I don't mind what you say. Complain, congratulate, enquire… surely, someone must be interested in why 29__th__ October 1893 is so darn important! Right? Look I guess what I'm trying to say is, I could REALY use reviews, flames, whatever. Just, please…_


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